our cry of war;
peace
the streets, O, how they testify
accused of false prophecy.
but a people's truth
known best by
them who walk it.

weapons,
bluebird hashtags,
palm portals broadcast high definition.
hands of pacifism write a
play of sunken morals
a stage—the world
capturing heart;
caging it beside mind

no longer abiding forced compliance
to the dollar,
and the jester king's control
making mockery of the throne they sit—
unrighteous fools.
we refuse a subject's posture.

they deem a mask cowardice,
fickle and shallow understanding
an insult of fear.
a brotherhood of belief to represent—
uniformity
together
by rank and by file,
stalwart to stem the loss of blood;
against greed.
independence
from them—from one another,
from the cookie cutter's imposition
advertisement imprisonment

once thought killed
succeeding only, they
made his cause indefinite
made message
immortal.
forever grinning,
lips curled across porcelain visage

on asphalt battleground
a rose outstretched,
the bearer beaten with sticks
put in chains.
soaring cans noxious,
tears not their result,
but of sorrow
for them, and
their acceptance of bribe white picket, the
Judas price.

hypocritical perpetrators
betray hollow oath,
smashing split fingers
the unspoken message portrayed
outlasting beating's bruises
heftier and more distant in reach, than strike.
hands cut by thorn whilst seeking to tear down
rose
regretful tears of power's illusion
wash the ground
but freed of blood impossible.

power's impotence seen,
the world's future bearing witness to
false truth.
a promise greater
a seed planted
generations to grow, in time
shading all mankind
when children lead men,
the mask removed
unveiling equality in our difference